


Greek, or Russian

by quietprofanity



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Writing on the Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-16
Updated: 2012-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-29 15:52:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietprofanity/pseuds/quietprofanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John takes a bit of revenge on Sherlock. Written for kink_bingo. Prompt: “Writing on the body.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Greek, or Russian

John Watson was a doctor, and thus he knew how to be a good patient. This meant even though he had absolutely no idea why Sherlock was scribbling onto his forearm in about five or six types of black biros, John held himself perfectly still while he did it. As he sat on a chair in the living room, his left arm spread over the desk, the situation actually reminded him a bit of getting his blood drawn. Sherlock even held onto his arm in a similar way, his hand wrapped firmly but not uncomfortably around John’s wrist. All that was missing was the rubber tourniquet.

Considering how long he’d been sitting there, he was grateful for that last part. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket with his free hand and checked the time (9:12) before pocketing it again.

“Care to explain why you’re doing this?”

“Hold on,” Sherlock said, his voice muffled as he gnawed around a biro he was holding between his teeth. He had another one behind his ear and was scribbling on John with a third.

“You’ve been saying that since a quarter to nine,” John said.

Sherlock looked up and stopped writing. He removed the biro from his mouth. “Have I?”

John narrowed his eyes.

“I’m testing ink smudges,” he raised the biro in his hand and shook it a bit. “I want to see if a difference can be determined between the brands by sight.”

“Ah. Of course. Testing ink smudges. And why couldn’t you have done that on a sheet of paper?”

“I wanted to see what they looked like on skin.”

John stared at Sherlock again as Sherlock continued to write. He was much more vigorous this time, and John could feel the metal tip of the biro dig into his flesh.

“And why did you need to write on me and not on yourself?” Watson asked.

Sherlock stopped writing for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, you’re here. Why not?”

John yanked his arm away as he stood up. He could hear Sherlock let out a frustrated breath as he walked to the kitchen.

“Oh, what?” Sherlock asked.

John turned the faucet and filled a pot of tea. “Oh, nothing. Continue to assume I never have any plans and I’m readily available for you to scribble on me for a half hour.”

“I didn’t assume you had no plans,” Sherlock said as he followed John into the kitchen. “I saw you sent no new messages from your phone and that you’d just updated your histrionic blog this morning. You brought food yesterday …”

“That’s not the point,” John said, slamming the kettle on the stove. He caught a glimpse of his arm. He realized the writing wasn’t just scribbles. “Is that … Greek?”

“And Russian,” Sherlock said. “I got bored and wanted to mix it up a bit.”

“Yes, well, why should you be bored?” John rolled his eyes. “Next time I’ll have the day clear so you can practice calligraphy.”

“Are you really so angry?”

John didn’t answer. He wasn’t furious. At this point he sort of expected these odd flights of madness from Sherlock, but he still wasn’t keen on having wasted time like this.

“Look,” Sherlock uncapped the biro behind his ear and handed it to him. “Would you like to write on me? Would that make you feel better?”

John glowered a bit at Sherlock, but took the biro. He pushed back the sleeve of Sherlock’s robe and wrote a word, pressing hard into Sherlock’s skin as he did so. He felt his friend’s arm twitch beneath his grasp.

“That’s a bit childish, isn’t it?” Sherlock asked.

Sherlock hadn’t even looked but John realized he had figured out the word. It didn’t matter, he thought. He tossed the biro on the table and went to his room.

~*~*~

John came out later for tea, and soon the whole incident was forgotten. But John had written on Sherlock rather hard. It took a couple of days before the black ink was washed away completely.

So every once in a while Sherlock would see the word “JERK” flash across his eyes, and he’d stop what he was doing to look at his wrist and smile.

The End.


End file.
